King Joseph soon found he had a difficult part to play at the royal palace as ruler of a foreign nation, but, although the Spaniards could not be supposed to be fond of him, tribute was paid to the kindness of his heart. After a meeting held at the palace to concert steps for dealing with the fearful famine which was devastating Madrid, the father of Mesoneros Romanos said to his son: “Joseph has certainly not lost his head at his elevation, neither is he unduly set up by his rank. He seemed profoundly moved at the misery of the people, and proclaimed his intention to do all in his power to assist them. Certainly,” concluded the speaker, “the man is good. It is only a pity he is called Bonaparte!” The preference entertained by Joseph Bonaparte for a beautiful lady, the Countess Jaruco, widow of the Governor of Havana, is well known. The lady died, and on the night of her burial her body was exhumed (one can imagine by whose orders), and was interred under a shady tree in her own garden. Joseph subsequently married the Countess’s daughter by General Merlin. The hatred of the people got on the poor Frenchman’s nerves, and for the last four years of his enforced reign in Madrid he kept quite in retirement, spending a good deal of time in the Casa del Campo, to which he passed by a tunnel entrance. But it was not very long, as we know, before the day came for Joseph to leave Spain. “The excitement in our house,” writes Mesoneros Romanos, “at the news of the evacuation of the royal palace by the French was extreme, and it was the same in every Spanish home. The hatred of the foreigners who had taken possession of us was very deep-rooted, and those who had joined the Gallic banner were not safe from actual persecution. “The shades of a dreadful nightmare were passed, and men talked excitedly, and women and children laughed for joy. The Virgins del Carmen and of the Paloma were promised new robes, and the children ran to light up the altar, backed with a valuable picture of the Immaculate Conception--a relic of the sacking of Godoy’s house; and after a Paternoster and a Salve my father said: ‘Now we must go to bed, for we must be up early to-morrow to see the entry of our friends.’ “By this was meant the Anglo-Spanish army, with its chief, Lord Wellington, and the Generals Alava, España, and Conde de Amarante. It was indeed a fine sight; the streets were decorated, and after a repast served in the Town Hall the English Commander-in-Chief appeared at the windows in response to the vociferous cheers of the crowds, and his speech, which was as cordial as was compatible with the stiff English manner, was received with the enthusiasm of our Southern nature.”